Portrait of My Sister 缅北强奸 to Shoplift
by Chelsea Wagenaar
She鈥檚 not the glossy tubes of mascara,
their hidden wands bristled & blacked.
She鈥檚 not the crate of pomegranates: this is
no still life. Everyone already knows
what the inside of a woman鈥檚 body looks like.
She鈥檚 not the mugshot that will run in tomorrow鈥檚 paper,
her shaded eyes inscrutable with the after.
She鈥檚 not the aisle of bulbs, boxed like eggshell nimbuses.
Would they suffice to light the distance
between us, a constellation of years? She鈥檚 turning
down the fishing aisle. She鈥檚 touching the flies & lures,
stringing their names like garlands (Sepia Nymph,
Mallard & Claret) around her evergreen silence
(Breathalyzer. Black Ghost). The poles assemble before her
like grand rosined horsehair bows
and she is Alice down the rabbit hole, undersized.
Willing to drink anything if it means she鈥檒l change.
She chooses one. In her mind, a clear brook passes
over stones older than her oldest memory.
Minnows school & shimmer between cloud shadow.
She walks down the aisle the way women
always have, quietly, slowly, as everything
before & after disappears into fluorescence.
With 鈥淧ortrait of My Sister 缅北强奸 to Shoplift,鈥� I started out feeling some loyalty to a person, to an experiential truth, but I needed to write my way into loyalty to the poem itself. After many drafts, I decided on portraiture as my avenue, in part because I wanted to write against the permanence of a mugshot (that most damning portrait), of shoplifting on a person鈥檚 criminal record, and instead freeze the moment just before, the moment of the decision as it鈥檚 forming. I didn鈥檛 want to craft backstory or context, which are more customary ways of humanizing the wrongdoer. I鈥檓 interested in 鈥渢hat moment when the bird sings very close / to the music of what happens鈥� (from Seamus Heaney鈥檚 poem 鈥淪ong鈥�). Portraiture as the act of description itself鈥攖he rigorous, painstaking, attentive kind鈥攃an lead to revelation. For me, the last three lines were revelatory, with the double resonance of walking 鈥渄own the aisle鈥� as the girl carries her chosen, shoplifted object鈥攖he fishing pole鈥攁way from everything before but not quite to everything yet to come. For a moment, she鈥檚 preserved in the transitory.
Chelsea Wagenaar is the author of two collections of poetry, most recently聽The Spinning Place, winner of the 2018 Michael Waters Poetry Prize. Her first collection, Mercy Spurs the Bone, was selected by Philip Levine to win the 2013聽Philip Levine Prize. She holds degrees from the University of Virginia and the聽University of North Texas, and currently teaches in North Carolina. Recent work聽appears or is forthcoming in The Cincinnati Review and The Massachusetts Review.